“Hey, honey! Calm down!”
The Viscountess, surprised by the unexpected situation, hurriedly tried to stop him.
"No matter how angry you are, this can't be happening! She has a party to attend tomorrow!"
"Party? What's the point of a party when rumors are rife that she's been swindled by that prodigal son?"
Even amidst her father's outburst, unable to control his anger, Erna stared blankly at the article lying on the floor. Her eyes were out of focus, making it impossible to read the full text, but she was able to grasp the general content.
Erna couldn't quite understand how such a malicious and vile lie could be published in the newspapers. Her father, who had touched her without even giving her a proper chance to explain, felt the same way.
Erna looked up at her father, who stood before her with eyes filled with such questioning. The pain and humiliation were overwhelming, but no tears flowed. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she couldn't quite remember how to shed tears.
"You're being greedy and ignorant of your position, ruining everything! Just when your value is rising, a scandal like this? You're losing out on a good match. What are you going to do about it?"
Her father's words, which she couldn't understand at all, buzzed in her dazed head.
The beggar's intention is to sell his daughter.
Erna wasn't unaware of the whispers and gossip people were whispering behind her back. She just didn't believe them. Surely they couldn't be that cruel. It just wasn't right.
She wanted to believe that it was at least a minimal denial.
All parents want their children of marriageable age to get married, and so did her father. Even if it was a choice born of petty selfishness, a desire to atone for the sin of abandoning his wife and children, she could understand it. After all, her father never turned away from the hand extended to him by his desperate daughter. While she had no intention of marrying, she wanted to remember the time she spent as a father, at least once, as a precious memory.
Stupidly. Poorly.
“...The reason you said you would keep me here for a year in exchange for protecting the Baden family mansion, was it really to sell me out?”
Erna asked in a whisper. Her gaze, fixed on Viscount Hardy, was so deep and cold that it was almost chilling.
“As people gossip, does my father consider me a high-priced commodity, something to be sold on the marriage market?”
While Viscount Hardy, with a slightly embarrassed expression, was breathing heavily, Erna staggered to her feet.
“Father, you shouldn’t be doing this to me.”
Her voice trembled from the fear her body remembered, but Erna still spoke each word with force.
"How can a father, no matter how long he's neglected his daughter, treat me, his unwavering daughter, like this? This is just too cruel and evil."
“I guess you forgot, but you were definitely the one who proposed this deal first.”
Viscount Hardy snorted and approached Erna.
"Did you really think that letting you stay in my house for a year was worth the price I paid for the Baden family's mansion? If so, those eccentric old men must have really raised you to be a fool."
“Don’t insult them both. Father doesn’t deserve that!”
“No. Not at all. As you said, I am your father, and I am more than qualified to be one!”
Viscount Hardy shouted confidently, without the slightest hesitation.
"Be grateful for your father's efforts to find you a good match, even though you were destined to grow old as a spinster in that remote village. Don't let your foolish greed ruin your work, and follow my orders obediently. Do you understand?"
Even with him right in front of her, savagely demanding, Erna stubbornly maintained her silence. Viscount Hardy's gaze grew increasingly fierce as he watched his daughter, who trembled in fear but refused to back down.
“If you do something stupid one more time, I’ll sell that country house right away, so just know that!”
“That can’t be. You promised me the house!”
When Erna became agitated, Viscount Hardy finally smiled in satisfaction.
"That's if you properly fulfill your contract. If you act selfishly, I will respond accordingly."
“How could you make such a vile blackmail?”
“Vile blackmail? A penniless upstart with nothing but a big mouth—you're every bit the Baroness Baden.”
Viscount Hardy, with a sharp laugh, slapped his daughter's cheek again with all his might. Even as he looked down at his daughter, who had fallen helplessly, his cold gaze remained unwavering.
“Hey, honey! Stop it now!”
Brenda Hardy, who had been anxiously observing the situation, grabbed her husband's arm and pulled him back. Viscount Hardy, who had stepped back, kicked away the blood-stained newspaper as if venting his anger.
"Think carefully and act accordingly. Even if you are a fool, I hope you at least understand the meaning of these words, Erna."
***
Unbelievably, it was Erna.
Bjorn, who was smoking a cigar on the terrace of a social club, frowned and sat up. Leaning against the railing, he exhaled a long puff of smoke as the woman, clearly Erna, moved a little closer.
The woman paused at the foot of the clock tower, looking down at her feet. Then, she resumed walking. She wore a wide-brimmed hat pulled down, as if oblivious to the fact that it was midnight. The faithful maid, always there, like a sentinel from hell, was nowhere to be seen.
Bjorn opened the pocket watch in his vest pocket and checked the time. It was clearly late at night. It was definitely not the time for a noble daughter to be strolling through the square alone.
It must have been quite noisy even at Hardy's.
As he recalled the scandal that had become the new prey of the affluent, he suddenly became curious about that woman's day. It was then that Erna, who had been walking forward with her eyes fixed on the ground, turned her head. The distance and darkness made it difficult to see her face clearly, but Bjorn knew he had made eye contact with her.
Erna, who had been standing frozen for a moment, suddenly lowered her head. Her attitude was a stark contrast to that evening, when she had been smiling and making eye contact.
Erna, who had been circling in circles like a beast caught in a trap, began to run away in the opposite direction from where he was. It was a scene that seemed absurd, but Bjorn laughed it off. It wasn't something new, having seen it often before. It was a day of gossip, so she had reason to be cautious. Even the most cunning of philistines would be completely unfamiliar to a lady who had lived in the countryside for over a decade.
Bjorn left the terrace, cigar in his mouth. It was the club's peak hour, but there was no sign of Heinz hanging out with anyone. He felt like patting that foolish head of his for doing something he couldn't handle. And if possible, his mouth too.
“Come quickly, Bjorn! I was just about to go out looking for you anyway.”
As he opened the door to the card room, Peter's voice mingled with the commotion. A new game was about to begin.
Bjorn returned to his seat and dusted off the ash from his long-grown cigar. Even the prodigal sons, who spent their time joking and taunting each other, couldn't easily provoke Bjorn today. It was a sort of unwritten rule between them.
Bjorn, his mouth moistened with brandy, checked his card with a face that was difficult to read.
The image of Erna's back as she ran frantically over the not-so-good pattern came to mind. It also reminded him that it wasn't in the direction of the Hardy family's mansion.
***
Pavel was only able to leave the Lehmann mansion late at night.
Pavel politely declined the art director's offer to give him a ride home. He strolled leisurely down the street, as if enjoying a stroll. The breeze was refreshing, making for a perfect evening for walking. There was nothing better for clearing his head.
The second daughter of Count Lehmann, still unmarried, was a renowned art enthusiast. While not particularly discerning, her generous spending made her a highly regarded patron in the art world. She typically purchased works based on recommendations from those around her, but lately she'd been paying a particularly keen attention to Pavel. This was thanks to his award at the Royal Academy of Arts, which had garnered significant attention.
He was invited to dinner by a wealthy patron, and his work was sold for a hefty price. It was a day that deserved to be celebrated. He can't deny that he was completely free of such feelings.
But Pavel knew from the beginning why he was feeling so complicated. Erna. That name had been increasingly unsettling lately.
Every time he saw the white-haired Count Lehmann sitting at the dinner table, he thought of her. Pavel couldn't understand how Erna could be considered a bride for the old man. He couldn't just sit back and watch, but there was no other way, so it was driving him mad.
He should have cared more about Erna a long time ago.
There were many moments when he found himself consumed by belated regret, even though he knew it would be futile. This was especially true when he thought of Erna, who, after a year of hard work, was still naively dreaming of returning to Burford.
Pavel untied the tie that felt like a tight leash and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He paused for a moment and looked up at the night sky.
He felt like he had to tell Erna.
He knew everything: why Viscount Hardy had summoned his daughter, and what fate awaited her if she let her guard down. With the money from the painting's sale expected in a few days, he had at least prepared a means of providing Erna with some help.
The hottest topic at the dinner held at Count Lehmann's house that day was undoubtedly the scandal surrounding the Grand Duke and Erna. The nobles present all sympathized with Princess Gladys and condemned Erna. Count Lehmann, with a sullen expression, frequently coughed, expressing his anger at the way his chosen bride was being talked about in this way. The Lehmann daughters, taking advantage of this moment, were actively trying to change their father's mind by slandering Erna. It seemed their stepmother, who was as young as their own children, simply couldn't tolerate it.
He can't leave Erna like this.
At the Lehmann family dinner today, Pavel solidified his resolve. The old Count, the prodigal son of society, and even the Toadstool Prince. Just thinking about the names of these pathetic thugs toying with her filled him with rage.
If that's the case, shouldn't he help Erna leave that house? If he sends her back to Burford, will her life ever be as peaceful as before? Will Viscount Hardy, already so distraught, really let Erna go?
As Pavel's disillusionment deepened with the endless questions that followed, he arrived at the front door. A woman was crouching on the short steps leading to the front door. It was a sight that was too intrusive to pass by without a second thought.
“Are you okay?”
Pavel approached the woman and politely asked her a question. But his calm demeanor vanished the moment she raised her head.
“...Erna!”
The name Pavel shouted in shock shook the night streets. The woman staring at him with a scarred face was undoubtedly Erna, his sister Erna.
Comments
Post a Comment